


like never before

by Menacherie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menacherie/pseuds/Menacherie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Off the ice, Nick notices that Brandon’s fingers are thin and long, that his wrist bones protrude more than Nick’s do, and that his smile is shy and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like never before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firalla11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firalla11/gifts).



Brandon is a hockey player, through and through. His eyes are always looking for an open lane, his feet are always moving, his brain is always thinking three steps ahead.

Off the ice, though, he’s quiet and refined and the things that stand out on the ice slip away. Off the ice, Nick notices that Brandon’s fingers are thin and long, that his wrist bones protrude more than Nick’s do, and that his smile is shy and sweet. 

It’s not a surprise when he finds out Brandon knows how to play the piano. “I bet you’re good at it,” Nick says quietly, beer bottle hovering over his lips. Brandon glances away from the chirping that Shawzer and Bolly are throwing his way and gives him a hesitant smile. 

“In another world I would be wearing tails and sitting at a piano,” he says, ducking his head. 

Nick’s eyes traces over Brandon’s fingers and tilts his head. “I could see it,” he says. 

\--

_Piano Man, Billy Joel_

\--

“Play me a song,” Nick says with a grin. Brandon in his own apartment is a bit of a revelation. He’s not cramped in the same apartment as Shawzer and Bolly anymore, and it shows. There are touches of Brandon everywhere, but the most obvious is the keyboard in the living room.

The keyboard is in the corner of the room, more like an afterthought than a design decision. Nick carelessly presses two keys and then looks over at Brandon. Brandon sighs, he knows Nick well enough to know that he won’t let it go. 

“I don’t know why people call Shawzy a dog with a bone when we all know you,” Brandon grumbles, but drags a chair over to the keyboard anyways. 

He presses a few keys mindlessly before twitching his neck a little. Brandon then starts playing a familiar song. It takes a few seconds for Nick’s brain to catch up, but he bursts into laughter at the tune. 

“I didn’t mean it so literally,” Nick says, as Piano Man drifts through Brandon’s apartment. Brandon stops playing to look back at him. 

“You get what you ask for,” he says in a sing-song voice.

Nick smiles at him. “Whatever, you little shit.” 

\--

_Hedwig’s Theme, John Williams_

\--

“That shit is dope as hell,” Shawzer slurs against Bolly’s thigh. They’re all sprawled out across Brandon’s living room furniture, Bolly and Shawzer are taking up the couch, Brandon has taken over the oversized recliner and Nick has stolen all the small pillows that Brandon’s mom sent a few months ago and is arranged on the floor. 

Nick can’t really see the TV but he’s 90 percent sure that Shawzer is the only one watching still. They’ve got places to be later, but right here, right now they’re just watching a Harry Potter marathon, like it’s any other random weekend. 

“He just,” Shawzer says and waves his hand around aimlessly like it explains everything, and really it does. 

Nick hums in agreement, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“I can play the theme song,” Brandon says. When Nick looks up at him his head is tilted back and he’s looking at the ceiling. 

“Yeah?” Shawzer asks. 

“Totally, in my sleep and shit.” 

“Dare you.” 

Brandon groans and Bollig snorts a little in his sleep. 

“No, no, I fucking like, triple dog dare you bro,” Shawzer says. 

Nick giggles, feeling like a teenager again. “You gotta do it Bran,” he says. “He triple dog dared you,” he says before bursting into giggles again. 

“Fuck you guys,” Brandon says before crawling out of the recliner and stumbling over to his keyboard. He stares at the keyboard for a few minutes before he places his hands on the keys. 

What follows is the most fucked up version of Hedwig’s Theme he’s ever heard, but it’s still recognizable at least. 

“Saader, that is fucked,” Bolly’s voice rumbles, finally awake. 

“I think,” Brandon says, still staring at his hands and the keys. “I’m still drunk.” 

“Fuck yeah we are,” Shawzer says, and collapses back on Bolly, no longer turned around to watch Brandon. 

Nick keeps watching him though, he always does. Brandon giggles and shakes his head. 

“I still can’t believe we won,” he whispers “and I’m playing Hedwig’s Theme.” 

Nick grins at him. 

\--

_Fur Elise, Beethoven_

\--

Nick is sitting at the keyboard, pressing down keys only half remembered from school. In the kitchen, he can hear Brandon laughing. “Is that you murdering Fur Elise?” 

“I don’t know the name of it,” Nick confesses, still pressing down keys and making faces at the keyboard. 

Nick takes a sip of his beer and puts it back down on the coaster next to him. He hears Brandon shove the wings into the oven and the oven door slam, but it still doesn’t prepare him for the hands resting on his shoulders. “Your positioning is all wrong,” he says, and places his hands over Nick’s to fix them. 

Brandon’s chest is broad against Nick’s back, his breath tickles Nick’s ear. Nick’s chirp for Brandon dies on his tongue and he falls silent. 

“There,” Brandon whispers. 

“Are you gonna teach piano when you retire?” Nick asks, finally finding a chirp and hoping he doesn’t sound pathetic. 

“Teaching kids would be easier than dealing with your mug every day,” Branon chirps back. Nick takes his hands back and Brandon lets his own fall on the keys. 

He plays the first few notes of the song that Nick had been butchering. Nick closes his eyes and leans back against Brandon’s chest. He lets out a sigh. The notes stutter a little and Nick feels more than hears Brandon clear his throat. 

“How longs are those wings in the oven for?” 

“Fifteen minutes,” Brandon says, his voice rough. 

Nick nods and places his hands over Brandon’s so the music stops. Neither of them say anything, but a few seconds later Brandon takes a step back and Nick turns around. They’re both quiet people, but this silence is suffocating. 

Brandon caves first. “Nick,” he says, his voice still gravelly. Nick tilts his head and stands. He doesn’t want to be sitting on the piano bench for this. Brandon takes a step back to give him room, but Nick walks right back into Brandon’s space. Brandon finally stops moving and Nick curls his hands against Brandon’s threadbare t-shirt before leaning up and pressing his lips against Brandon’s.

Brandon sighs against his lips, his body relaxes under Nick’s hands, and Nick knows everything is going to be fine.

\--

_Goodbye My Lover, James Blunt_

\--

Nick’s heart sinks into his stomach when his agent gives him the heads up. He knew it was coming, has known for a while time that the salary cap was going to do him in. He’s known, but he’s still not prepared for having to knock on Brandon’s door. 

Brandon opens the door at the second knock and grins at Nick until he sees the look on Nick’s face. 

“Fuck,” Brandon hisses, tugging him into the apartment. “What team?”

“New York,” Nick says, like it’s hard to breathe. “Islanders.” 

“Shit,” Brandon says, and drags him in for a kiss. The kiss helps center him for a moment, reminds him that he’s wanted. Brandon pulls away and presses their foreheads together. “We’ll be fine,” he says, and Nick wants to believe him, wants to desperately believe him, but he can’t. He just lets out a broken sob. 

Brandon pulls him back in again, and from the living room he can hear someone talking about the trade on tv. Brandon gently tugs on him until they’re lying in bed. 

Later that night, Nick wakes up to the strains of something slow and sad drifting through the room. He rolls over and doesn’t see Brandon. He lies there, listening to Brandon playing the piano and buries his head in the pillows instead of getting up and talking to him. 

\--

_Songbird, by Fleetwood Mac_

\--

The next time Nick really sees Brandon, it’s across the ice. Their eyes only catch when one of them is on the bench, but it still knocks the breath out of him. 

Nick honestly doesn’t remember who wins the game, he just remembers waving off the rest of the team while he waits for the Jackets to leave the parking garage. A few of them give him a wary look, but Foligno gives him a big smile and a thumbs up, so Brandon must have told some of them. 

It feels like Brandon is the last one out, game day suit only the slightest bit wrinkled and with a new haircut to boot. He doesn’t notice Nick until he gets to the car and then his eyes get wide. 

“Nick.” 

His voice is hoarse, it always is after games. Games are the only times that Brandon actually gets loud. He usually lets his actions speak for him. 

“Bran,” he says, unable to complete the second syllable. 

Brandon’s eyes shutter shut and he takes another step forward. “M’sorry I never called you back,” he whispers. 

“I get it,” Nick says, but looks away, because it still hurts. 

“No, I just-” Brandon’s hands cup his chin and he rests his forehead against Nick’s. “I’m a shit boyfriend.” 

Nick chokes out a laugh and shakes his head. 

“Let me make it up to you,” Brandon says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Nick’s eye. “I’ll watch a stupid show with you, I’ll make some pasta, it’ll be like old times.” 

“Yeah,” Nick says slowly. “Okay,” he nods and Brandon smiles. 

Again, Nick wakes up alone, and for a second he panics until he recognizes the song being played. He hums along and crawls out of bed to press a kiss to the back of Brandon’s neck as he stumbles into the living room. 

“I love you too babe,” he whispers.


End file.
